Chapter 500: Make a Friend

After getting to know each other and exchanging pleasantries, everyone took their seats in the lounge area.

Chen Zhixi sat alone on one side; Fang Hong and Liu Tianxian sat together, facing Xing Ye and Xu Laoguai.

The secretary brought them tea and coffee.

"I'm old now—I can't drink coffee, so I'll stick to tea," said Xu Laoguai, lifting his cup and gesturing for them to begin talking.

Xing Ye leaned forward and said, "I have a film project called The Mermaid—I'd like to collaborate with you."

"What's your planned budget?" Fang Hong asked.

"Over two hundred million."

Xing Ye felt that wasn't precise enough and added, "I'm not entirely sure of the exact figure yet, but if you're not willing to invest much, other investors will join in."

Meaning two hundred million is definitely not enough—invest as much as you can, even a partial amount is fine; he'll still bring in other investors.

"Who's invested so far?" Fang Hong asked again.

"No one yet—I'm reaching out to you first. Once you commit to collaborating, I can then bring in other investors," Xing Ye said bluntly.

In other words, he'd lure Yu Tu in first, then use them to attract other investors—essentially waving Yu Tu's banner.

Look, Yu Tu invested—the Principal's judgment has never been wrong. You should all invest too.

In its original timeline, this film eventually ran out of money; it was only when General Manager Zeng offered to take a role that he added more funding—memory says the production cost was around three hundred million.

It's normal—such a massive investment makes everyone afraid of failure, of losing their money, so big-budget films always spread the risk across multiple parties.

Xing Ye has failed before—he's not invincible; his earlier film Changjiang Qihao lost money.

"What's your opinion?" Fang Hong asked Chen Zhixi.

"I'm definitely inclined to collaborate—whether it succeeds or fails, it's just about making a friend," Chen Zhixi said, her words smooth and pleasant.

The truth is, Xing Ye's reputation still holds significant value—he hasn't yet reached the point of being ruined.

With proper handling, even a bad film can still rake in profits, but the investment is too large for her to decide alone, which is why she brought Fang Hong into the discussion.

Xing Ye's films always cost hundreds of millions—who could possibly shoulder that?

Liu Tianxian had said nothing, sitting upright and listening quietly; she actually loved comedy films, especially Xing Ye's comedies, feeling she could learn a great deal.

After all, Xing Ye's acting style was something few could imitate—she wanted to experience firsthand how he could act so freely and effortlessly.

It seemed Fang Hong had no intention of recommending her for a role in this film—though she hadn't even seen the script yet.

"Since General Manager Chen says it's about making a friend, then let's make a friend—you don't need to approach other investors. We at Yu Tu will fully fund your The Mermaid," Fang Hong declared with great generosity.

Of course, he knew this film would make money—guaranteed profit!

This caused Xu Laoguai to choke on his drink, nearly spitting it out—how incredibly lavish the Principal was, without the slightest hesitation.

Unlike that stingy Bo Na, who had to raise funds to shoot The Taking of Tiger Mountain, then shared risk with others after securing the project—no wonder Fatty Yu's confidence vanished when facing the Principal.

They were unequal in both strength and magnanimity.

Chen Zhixi also turned to look at Fang Hong—this wasn't small money. The budget was said to be two hundred million, but it could easily reach three hundred million, since even Xing Ye dared not claim he could make the film for just two hundred million.

She had originally planned to invest a few hundred million or a billion just to show commitment and secure control.

Only Liu Tianxian remained calm—she had no sense of money.

"Principal, you're truly wealthy and generous—I accept your friendship," Xing Ye sighed, moved by the Principal's generosity, feeling as if they'd met too late.

If he'd met a Principal like this earlier, he wouldn't have worried about funding or bowed to others—he could've just partnered directly with Yu Tu.

In truth, Fang Hong was just speaking casually—he didn't really care about friendship.

"If my film becomes a hit, I need a share of the profits," Xing Ye added.

He was asking for equity—wanting to earn more.

"How much do you want?" Fang Hong asked.

"Twenty percent," Xing Ye held up two fingers—ten billion in box office would mean roughly seventy million in profit share.

Fang Hong and Chen Zhixi exchanged glances—he was indeed greedy. If the box office exceeded ten billion, plus his director's fee, Xing Ye could earn around eighty million.

He hadn't made much from Huayi last time—he wanted to make it here at Yu Tu.

The rumors were true: Xing Ye was greedy. But everyone was greedy—it was understandable. Why else would someone work themselves to death making films? To realize self-worth?

His self-worth was already achieved—he now only wanted money.

"Here's my proposal: forget twenty percent. If the box office exceeds ten billion, I'll give you one hundred million outright as profit share," Fang Hong waved his hand with lavish generosity.

Damn, this made Xu Laoguai's heart race—one hundred million for a single film? Who wouldn't be tempted?

Even Chen Zhixi wanted to stop the Principal—this might backfire, leading to losses instead of profit.

Because giving Xing Ye one hundred million if the box office exceeds ten billion meant that after deducting investment, Yu Tu would barely profit—unless production costs were tightly controlled, profits would have to come from later rights sales.

After subtracting theater and distribution shares, the net profit from ten billion in box office was only around three billion.

Of course, they didn't know the market was rising: ten billion box office was considered phenomenal this year, but next year and the year after, twenty and thirty billion would become routine.

So Fang Hong didn't negotiate percentages—he fixed it: if it exceeds ten billion, Xing Ye gets one hundred million, no more, no less.

Meaning, if the box office hits twenty or thirty billion later, it has nothing to do with Xing Ye—you take your one hundred million and that's it.

Liu Tianxian remained unchanged—she had no emotional reaction. If she wanted to know something, she'd ask Fang Hong at night—no need to guess.

She was curious: what did Xing Ye's films actually look like? He said it was The Mermaid—she really wanted to play the mermaid.

Now, she wanted to play anything—anything except a celestial maiden.

"Principal, are you serious?" Xing Ye was astonished.

"Serious—we can sign the agreement and stamp it right now," Fang Hong said with solemn sincerity.

"Good!"

Hearing this, Xing Ye relaxed—he'd regretted last time for not signing and stamping with Huayi. He'd probably regret it again after the film's release.

No one could have predicted The Mermaid would reach over three billion in box office.

"Of course, to protect my interests, there must be a spending cap—three hundred million is the upper limit. You cannot exceed this budget," Fang Hong set his limit.

Making a movie with infinite budget—who can handle that?

"If it's three hundred million, we won't make any profit—we'll actually lose money," Chen Zhixi couldn't help saying.

Even with a billion yuan in box office, after deducting 8.3% in taxes and 55% for theater shares, only about 36.7% remains.

That means, from a billion yuan in box office, only 367 million yuan is profit—and that's before deducting distribution costs, which take another 4%.

Add another hundred million yuan as dividends for Xing Ye, and you're left with just over two hundred million yuan; after all the math, they're still losing tens of millions.

They're truly relying on copyright revenue to make any money.

But if it doesn't hit a billion, and only makes eight or nine hundred million, then you don't have to pay Xing Ye his hundred million dividend—it's basically a gamble.

Xu Laoguai could roughly calculate this account and felt the Principal was doing charity.

They didn't expect the movie's box office to go high, because in today's market, it's extremely difficult.

"It's fine. Whether we make money or not is secondary—I'm here just to make friends. How else could my Principal have gotten this far, if not through friends?" Fang Hong spoke in a very underworld way.

No one knew where he got these friends from.

"Since the Principal is so straightforward, I won't say anything more—I agree with your proposal. I'll also try my best to keep the production cost within three hundred million." Xing Ye declared.

Working with the Principal is better—he's straightforward, generous, and his words are warm. Those two brothers are nowhere near as good.

Plus, the funding flexibility is huge—he said two hundred million, but raised the ceiling to three hundred million.

"Good. But I have two things to clarify: first, you must use Yutu's special effects team; second, the lead actors must be chosen first from Yutu's artists." Fang Hong said.

"Using Yutu's production team is fine, but I have my own assistants." Xing Ye meant he needed his assistants to help manage the production team.

"You can use your assistants," Fang Hong said.

"Then regarding actors—if you have recommendations, that would be even better," Xing Ye said.

"Shen Teng is pretty good. Introduce him to Xing Ye later," Fang Hong told Chen Zhixi.

"He doesn't have any major works—just see if Xing Ye is satisfied," Chen Zhixi said.

"Aren't you releasing Dying to Survive soon? Watch it then, Xing Ye, you should watch it too," Fang Hong said.

Shen Teng definitely has comedic talent—his role in The Tomato Billionaire was almost the same kind of broke second-generation rich kid, and it was hilarious. At least he won't be worse than Deng Chao.

"Alright, I'll observe him later," Xing Ye agreed.

He wasn't opposed to casting specific actors in his films—as long as their appearance wasn't too far from his vision, acting could always be polished.

That's true—they can all suck up to people. Do you really think Xing Ye has any principles?

Xing Ye asked again: "What about the female lead? Any recommendations?"

This made Liu Tianxian instinctively straighten her back and lift her head, hoping her man, Xing Ye, would glance at her—she could play the role.

"You decide on the female lead. Just prioritize Yutu artists; if none fit, hold open auditions," Fang Hong said indifferently.

"That's fine," Xing Ye thought it was acceptable—he still had a lot of autonomy.

But neither of them looked at Liu Tianxian, which made her feel deflated. Still, with others present, she couldn't say anything—she'd bring it up later.

Xu Laoguai noticed her—after all, she was being considered for the female lead in his film—but said nothing.

In fact, Fang Hong knew what kind of movie this was—it wouldn't help Liu Tianxian at all. It was too abstract; anyone could play it, and it might even ruin her image.

Can you imagine Liu Tianxian shouting "Hah!" and "Ha!"? Fang Hong couldn't picture it at all.

Xing Ye also knew what kind of movie his was—it involved nudity. Could someone as pure and delicate as her really strip?

"Our business is settled. Next is Superbody 2," Fang Hong said, turning to Xu Laoguai.

"I read the script you gave me. Honestly, it's wildly imaginative—but you won't let me change it, and that's frustrating," Xu Laoguai put down his teacup, feeling his creative freedom was under challenge.

He always made films exactly how he wanted. At Yutu, scripts couldn't be easily changed, and he had to accept oversight from the Producer.

"There's no way around it—that's how it is here," Fang Hong didn't coddle these big directors.

If they shot however they wanted, who knew what they'd end up with? It'd be impossible to predict—what if it turned out bizarre and incoherent?

At least following the script ensures the story remains complete.

Xu Laoguai lowered his head in silence, as if hesitating.

"Old Xu, don't think about it. Your storytelling skills? Don't bother showing off," Xing Ye slapped Xu Laoguai's shoulder and joked.

"My storytelling skills are strong too! I have things I want to express," Xu Laoguai replied stubbornly.

But he looked like an old man trying to prove himself—his mannerisms were slightly comical, making everyone else laugh.

"Hey, don't laugh—I'm serious. If a director has nothing he wants to express, then the movie has no soul," Xu Laoguai said again.

"Yes, yes, express away," Xing Ye smiled, gesturing for him to speak to the Principal.

Of course, he thought Xu Laoguai had a point—great directors all had their own unique styles and souls.

"You can express yourself through visuals, camera language, and all that—but the plot must follow the script," Fang Hong said.

"Fine. But the Producer must be Shi Nansheng—I'm used to working with him. I can't do without him," Xu Laoguai made his demand.

Even after his divorce, Shi Nansheng still worked with him as Producer. They'd collaborated for decades—still inseparable, each unable to function without the other. Few could manage that.

"No problem. Our Producer will only supervise your budget expenditures," Fang Hong said.

(End of Chapter)